The thing about the phrase “co-sleeping” is that it sounds purposeful. As though, The Husband and I at some point made a decision, or subscribed to a belief-system about parenting like “attachment parenting” that held true as a tenant that closeness at all times was valuable and should be pursued aggressively at the cost of sleep or sanity. The phrase suggests that we perhaps even had a discussion that went something like this:

me: I’ve been reading that distressed children have issues with brain development.

The Husband: And W seems awfully distressed when we try to put him in his crib, doesn’t he?

me: I’ve noticed the same thing! Do you think there is a way to prevent him from being damaged forever by this trauma?

The Husband: I know! Let’s keep him in our bed until he declares his readiness for detachment.

me: Agreed.

The truth is muddier. It’s more of a counter-narrative, really.

The truth is that there is something about the sincerity of toddler emotions that I wasn’t prepared for. I remember a time when I was trying to put him in his crib when he curled up his legs as though the mattress was lava and the screams emanating from his little lungs suggested the rails of the crib were in fact venomous snakes. The depth of his terror was so convincing, his screams could have been charted logarithmically with the x-axis being 1/(the distance toes were hovered over the mattress). And I bought it. I believed his fear was justified. And frankly, the bars of the crib did evoke a sort of incarcerated-because-you-are-not-trustworthy feeling, even to me. He just likes bigger beds, I told myself. So, we transformed his crib to a toddler bed. Which is great, because now I have a spot for his stuffed animals.

So, I’m up at 5 am because he kicked me in the a face again. The severity of this injury doesn’t match the black-eye by head-butt that induced my friends to offer domestic violence interventions. But the truth is that most days I wake up convinced that The Husband signed us up for midnight midget wrestling and didn’t tell me, just as I’m being kicked or punched or even body slammed. And it does make me think sincerely that we need a plan. Forward. As Obama says. Forward.

There are two possibilities.

1. Some amazing Super-Nanny/Mary Poppins figure arrives at our door, sends us off for a nice adult dinner and has a serious talk with W about the importance of independence. Then lives with us for say, five years, until we are able to fully implement the plan.

2. W himself decides he needs more space.

Strike that. I can think of a third option. I can move to his bed.

Regardless, I’m up. So I think I’ll take advantage of it and make my from scratch cinnamon rolls. Yay.

Sticky Cinnamon Rolls

Ingredients

1 tsp sugar 2¼ tsp instant yeast (1 package)

½ cup warm water (110 degrees F)

½ cup milk ¼ cup heavy cream

¼ cup sugar

¼ cup unsalted butter

1 tsp salt

2 eggs, beaten

4 cups all purpose flour

¾ cup unsalted butter

¾ cup brown sugar, lightly packed x 2

2 tbsp cinnamon

¼ cup unsalted butter, melted

pinch salt

9×13 inch baking dish, greased

Preparing Dough Directions

In small bowl, dissolve yeast and 1 tsp sugar. Set aside for 10 minutes, until creamy.

Meanwhile, warm milk and cream in small saucepan just until it bubbles, remove from heat; add in ¼ cup sugar, ¼ cup butter and salt, stirring until melted.

In large mixing bowl of standing mixer with paddle attachment in place, combine yeast mixture, milk mixture, and beaten eggs. Add 1½ cups of flour; mix well to combine.

Add in remaining 2½ cups of flour, ½ cup at a time, mixing well after each addition.

When dough clumps together, either knead by hand on lightly floured board for roughly 8 minutes, until smooth and elastic; or switch mixer to the dough hook attachment if you have one and mix on a medium speed for 3 or 4 minutes until the dough is smooth, pliable and sticks on the dough hook.

Place dough in a lightly-oiled large bowl; turn it to coat with oil and cover with plastic wrap or a damp tea towel. Let rise in a warm place for about 1 hour, until doubled in volume.

41 Comments

Lol Rana, this made me laugh. So glad I am not the only one. Husband is convinced cosleeping with a 2.5/yr old is in the same vein as breast feeding, well, a 2.5 year old. On the upside, we have the poshest cat bed in Vermont.

Love, love, LOVE your blog. Now I have blog envy. What platform do you use?